


Awkward Fox-Trot

by themthere_taterthings



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Protective Clint Barton, Sick Tony Stark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-11
Updated: 2015-10-26
Packaged: 2018-04-14 02:08:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4546089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themthere_taterthings/pseuds/themthere_taterthings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony's hit by a sudden migraine and surprises Clint, who is more worried than a friend should be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

He closed his eyes for a moment, rubbing them halfheartedly with the back of his hand to try and dispel the slight blur that had come over them. He was pretty sure he’d been working on his busted boot repulsor for a while…maybe days? He tried to think back to his last foray outside the workshop and was stopped by a sharp stabbing pain to his temple. 

“Jarv?” His AI would know, “How long have I been down here?” He spun in his chair, scanning the nearby work benches for a coffee mug.

“You entered the workshop 27 hours ago, Sir; ater a small skirmish downtown where you’re left boot repulsor was damaged.” Jarvis promptly replied in an almost too-loud voice. 

“Hhmmm…” It was surprising for him to have gone so long uninterrupted by his live-in teammates. Usually one of them came down with a stick up their ass about his lack of eating, sleeping, and/or socializing schedule. “Where’s the team?”

“Captain Rogers and Agent Romanov were requested by SHIELD for a mission, unrelated to yesterday’s encounter. Mr. Odinson is no longer in this realm. Dr. Banner is currently involved in an experiment of his own and has his lab on lockdown; Avengers emergencies only. Agent Barton has just returned from a mission debrief.” Tony winced at the volume of this information. 

“Ugh, tone it down, Jarv.” It was becoming increasingly hard to see out of his right eye, like there was a dark tunnel expanding to fill his line of sight. Picking up his found coffee mug, he sniffed it and found himself gagging and riding out a wave of nausea at the scent. His suspicions were just confirmed. “Where do I keep my migraine meds, J?” At his words, the lights in the workshopp dimmed considerably and the AI’s voice was much softer than before. 

“In the penthouse master bathroom, Sir.” Tony groaned. One elevator ride, cross the common kitchen and living area then down the hall to his room, find the meds, crash on the bed. He could do this, he was a super hero. Maybe grab a coke and a piece of chocolate to help kick this in the butt. He stood and nearly fell to his knees as the blood rushed to his head and the throbbing pain seemed to overwhelm him. It was bearable after a moment and he was able to walk to the elevator. He hadn’t had a migraine hit him this quickly in a long time. As soon as he was in, the doors shut and it was moving. Thank god for AIs… 

Stepping out of the elevator was torture. The bright August afternoon sunlight was streaming through the wall of windows, burning his retinas and setting fire to his nervous system. He scrunched his eyes closed and shortened his breath into short, quick bursts; in through the nose, out through the mouth to handle the pain. This plan backfired quickly as he caught the smell of cooking food and his nausea ricocheted from his mouth to his stomach and back. He all but ran toward the closest trash can, pushing a large, fleshy blur out of the way. 

“Jesus, Stark! What’s your problem?!” Oh, right, Barton was home, but Tony had no breath to waste on explanations as he grabbed onto the trash can and heaved a stream of bile and liquid. When he could focus on something other than the repetitive and violent clenching of his stomach muscles, he realized he was lying in a heap on the kitchen floor, shivering. Barton was having a panicked discussion with Jarvis but all he could focus on was the pain in his head trying to rip him apart. 

*****

Clint had just gotten back from a short mission, nothing too strenuous, at least it was state-side. No injuries, but he was exhausted. And hungry, definitely hungry. He took the elevator to the penthouse; technically, it was Tony’s floor but for some reason it had the best-stocked kitchen and Tony never seemed to mind them all hanging out there. He supposed it was because Stark always spent most of his time in his workshop anyway. 

Dropping his bag to the side of the elevator, Clint started raiding the fridge, pulling out leftovers and mixing them in a big bowl that he shoved in the microwave. He heard the elevator ding, signaling the arrival of either Banner or Stark. Probably Banner, since Stark never willingly vacated his lair. He gathered the empty take-out containers and went to throw them away; despite what Nat said, he was not that big of a slob.

“Jesus, Stark! What’s your problem?!” he yelled as Stark pushed him out of the way before bending over the trash can and vomiting spectacularly. Putting his trash back down, he noted that Stark’s skin was covered in a light sheen of sweat, but shudders were wracking the thinner man’s frame. “Been drinking, Stark?” he asked, smirking, but the mirth fell from his face as Stark slowly sunk to his knees then collapsed completely to the floor, an almost inaudible groan escaping his lips. 

“Shit!” he exclaimed, kneeling beside Tony and grabbing his wrist for a pulse. “Jarvis, what is it poison? Call Steve! Call –" 

“Agent Barton, Sir is merely experiencing a severe migraine. Reinforcements are not necessary. Sir was on his way to his room for medication, when the scent of food overwhelmed his nausea. If you would please escort Sir to his room and find his medications?” Jarvis made it sound like a polite request, but Clint knew an order when he heard one. 

“Sir, yes, sir.” His snark was back knowing Tony’s life wasn’t actually in danger. “Come on, Tony, stand up, buddy. Let’s get you to bed.” He cajoled and prodded and lifted until Tony was standing. Well, almost standing. His arm was over Clint’s shoulder with Clint’s arm around his waist, most of the iron man’s weight on the archer. “Ok, Tony, you’re doing great. Let’s take baby steps, now,” Clint whispered, mindful that migraines often come with sensory sensitivity. 

Tony seemed to be coming out of his stupor. “Mmmph.. Clint?” he asked, turning his head toward Clint’s and blowing hot air against his neck. Clint suppressed his resulting shudder. His neck was a sensitive area for him and Tony was not an unattractive man, and wow, he really needed to get laid before his little crush became noticeable.  
“Yeah, Tones, it’s me. Helping you get to bed, ok? We’ll grab your meds and you’ll be feeling better by morning.” He gently squeezed Tony’s waist to him in some semblance of a reassuring hug. If asked, he would deny it forever, he was way too manly for hugs. 

Tony seemed to like it though, he sighed, and softly said, “Thanks Clint. I’m glad you’re home.” Clint’s heart did an uncomfortable fox-trot, tap-dance, flip-flop thing that he did his best to squash. The door to Tony’s room was open and although Clint had never been in Tony’s room before it was easy enough to find the bed: it took up half the room but hardly looked slept in. Once they were close, Tony collapsed face-first into the pillows, groaning and covering his head. 

“Jarvis, curtains please?” Clint asked. The room was instantly darker and Tony’s breathing became a bit easier. “And where are Tony’s meds?” Clint followed Jarvis’s instructions grabbing a pill from a prescription bottle, a glass of water, and a cool wet towel.

Tony was laying exactly how Clint had left him. He maneuvered Tony into a sitting position, leaning against Clint’s chest as he sat behind him. “Tony open for your meds,” he rubbed Tony’s bare arm to bring him out of his doze. Tony opened his mouth without opening his eyes, and even swallowed the water when Clint pressed the glass to his lips. Clint took a minute to enjoy the moment. Sure, Tony was in pain, which made Clint feel awful, but Tony’s head was lolling back on Clint’s shoulder, pressed against him with all his weight. He imagined for a second that this was real, he hugged Tony as hard as the thought he could get away with, closed his eyes, tucked his head into Tony’s neck, and just breathed. He tried to memorize Tony’s scent; the surprisingly amazing mixture of faded, expensive cologne, sweat, and scorched metal. Tony may never feel anything for Clint, but that would never stop Clint from taking care of Tony.

Sighing wistfully, he scooted out from behind Tony, laying him on the pillows. He took off Tony’s beat up sneakers and pulled a blanket over the sleeping man. He lay a gentle kiss on Tony’s forehead before covering his eyes and forehead with the towel. “I’ll be back in a few, Tony.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony's recovery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you like!

Clint returned to the kitchen to finish his makeshift dinner and take out the garbage. Absently twirling his fork around his fingers, he asked Jarvis for a quick run-down on migraines. He’d never experienced one or been close to someone who had but he felt woefully unprepared for the state he’d just seen Tony in.

He’d seen Tony go through the equivalent of a clothes dryer spin cycle in the suit against a 450-foot tall solid rock monster and come out looking better than he had today. Wait, he took it back, he’d seen _Iron Man_ take those kind of hits and be fine. It was a whole different can of worms seeing _Tony_ hurting like that; especially when he knew he couldn’t do much to help.

So while he ate, he educated himself on migraine symptoms (like light/sound/smell sensitivity…oh), triggers, and drug treatments: the layman’s crash course. It all sounded… awful. He hated that Tony had to experience that.

“Jarvis, how often does Tony get migraines?” According to the literature, it varied from person to person, and even that was inconsistent.

“Sir experiences approximately 8 migraines per year, but has not experienced one of this severity in nearly a year,” the AI returned succinctly.

Clint frowned. “So this isn’t the first one he’s had since we all moved in?”

“Indeed not, Sir.”

“Well, that’s enough of that crap. From now on, you tell us when he’s having one, ok? Me first, if I’m here. Probably Bruce if I’m unavailable. Tony would be more comfortable with us than Nat or Steve,” he declared, rising from his seat. He needed to drop his bag off at his floor, change into some more lounge-appropriate clothing, then he was going to check in on sleeping beauty.

“Migraine notification protocol generated, Sir.” Clint smiled, it was always good to have the omniscient tattle-tale on your side.

***

It was blissfully dark and quiet when Tony opened his eyes. Yay, he made it to his bedroom, it made recovering from a migraine so much faster than when he passed out on the floor somewhere random. He still shuddered to recall the epic ache of senior year at MIT; Rhodey had found him the next day, dehydrated, incoherent, and covered in his own vomit underneath a bench in the Engineering building. Pretty sure it took a full week to bounce back from that.

As his brain began to reconnect to his body he was acutely aware of hours old post-upchuck mouth. _Blech._ Slowly sitting up, he took stock of his sore stomach muscles, freakishly tense neck and shoulder region, and the ever present but likely psycho-somatic compulsion to not move his head or eyes at all.

Haltingly, waiting for any sudden, stabbing signs of pain, he stood and made his way to the attached bathroom. His prescription bottle was on the counter, minus its lid and a few drawers were haphazardly open. Huh, he didn’t actually remember finding or taking his pills. Rummaging for his toothpaste, he straightened out the vanity a bit, threw on some extra deodorant and took a milder painkiller with muscle relaxant with a glass of water. Another few hours of sleep and he’d be in tip-top crime fighting shape.

Tottering a little blearily out of the bathroom, he screamed (just a little), took a panicked step backward, tripped on his over-long sweats, and landed heavily on his ass. Someone was sitting up in his bed, a figure he hadn’t noticed until just now.

“Shit, Tony! Are you ok? I didn’t mean to scare you. Kinda thought you knew I was there,” Clint called, scrambling out of bed and hurrying to Tony’s side.

“Clint?” Tony asked dazedly. One hand covered his arc reactor and the other pressed against his temple. Adrenaline and quick shifts in elevation were hell on a headache. “Why would you be on my bed? I thought you were on a mission?” He looked up at Clint in time to see his expression shift to its normal, playful smirk from something fleeting and… disappointed?

“Got back last night, actually. In time to see you blow chunks in the kitchen. While I was eating dinner, no less. It was traumatizing, you owe me dinner, Stark,” he snarked offering a hand to Tony to pull him to his feet.

Tony was still trying to catch up, curse how slow his brains were on drugs! Why wasn’t Clint calling him Tony anymore? Had he actually been worried? He took Clint’s hand but didn’t let go once he was standing. “Did you help me get to bed? And with my painkillers?” Those were neutral enough questions.

Clint’s demeanor seemed to soften at his confusion. “Yeah, I gave you your meds and put you to bed. I came back to check on you and I didn’t mean to stay but I was exhausted from the mission. Sorry about that.”

“Aww, Barton, were you worried about me?” Tony tried to tease to figure out how he’d hurt Clint’s feelings, because somehow, he was sure that he had.

Clint looked crushed by that. “Tony,” he sighed, pulling his hand from Tony’s. “Of course I was worried! You’re my friend. Why didn’t you tell any of us about your migraines before? You know I – we would always be willing to take care of you.” He was looking at Tony with so much honesty and concern in his eyes that something in Tony snapped.

His breath hitched and he pulled Clint into a hug, burying his face in the archer’s neck. Clint stood still in shock for a moment before returning the hug firmly with both arms. He felt a stinging prick in his eyes. “I’m sorry, Clint.” His apology muffled. “No one’s really ever been willing to help me through one of these before. I – I didn’t know you’d…” he trailed off before his voice could betray how close to tears he really was.

Then Clint was rubbing his hands in reassuring circles on Tony’s back, leading him toward the bed. “Tony, don’t worry about it. You’ll never have to face one of these alone again, ok? Not while I’m here.” Once again, Tony was nearly overwhelmed with how genuine and certain Clint seemed about that. Despite his fears, he felt relief and trust flood through him.

Clint navigated them to the bed and arranged them so that they were lying face to face, as Tony had refused to release them from their embrace. Clint didn’t seem to mind, one hand moving up to massage gently at the back of Tony’s neck, helping to release the tension ruminating there. Tony sighed appreciatively and snuggled closer, the combination of his muscle relaxant and the unusual feeling of safety had him drifting back to sleep in no time, a small smile playing at his lips.

If he’d been awake at all, he would have seen a matching one on Clint’s.


End file.
